


What A Sam Wants

by ringaroundtherollins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Baking, Brotherly Love, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Dancing, Destiel - Freeform, Holidays, M/M, Plot Twists, Sabriel - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 15:10:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13033797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ringaroundtherollins/pseuds/ringaroundtherollins
Summary: Some things just can't be explained. For example, what are the Winchesters doing throwing a Christmas Eve party at their house? Who invited the King of Hell? Why is Gabriel dancing with Sam in the living room to a Mariah Carey song? And what ugly sweater is Castiel donning for the party? Holiday-themed fluffy one-shot with a twist ending. Language and gayness.





	What A Sam Wants

Some things just couldn’t be explained. 

Dean Winchester was baking cookies in a kitchen with white cabinets adorned with a dark-green wreaths, garland speckled with plastic lights strung over the entryway, and a red and white-striped rug set in front of the oven. All Sammy’s idea, the sap. The six-foot-one hunter sported a red apron— _the only one I could find_ , Sam had told him,  _really, and it’s red, a unisex color, totally not for chicks;_ and Dean had rolled his eyes, not believing him, but donned the apron anyway while Sam choked on giggles.  

The oven was preheated and chimed at him while Dean finished rolling out the slender sugar cookie dough on the counter, atop a sheet of waxy paper so it wouldn’t stain the ceramic. He’d smeared the flat glob of dough with handfuls of flour so the rolling pin wouldn’t stick to it, and the white residue adhered to his big hands.  

“Sam!” Dean called over the Christmas music gliding through the kitchen from his phone. “Get your ass in here and pick a shape.” 

Sam was in the fireplace-toasted living room, vacuuming the carpet which the party guests would ruin under their stomping feet anyway. Dean paused the music with his elbow and hollered again. “Sammy!” 

“Yeah?” Sam called over the vacuum. 

“Come here, pick a shape for your cookie.” 

Sam loped to the kitchen, stopping in the entryway. He was a bit more masculine in attire than his brother, with a white wool sweater and brown chino pants. At the sight of his untidy brother, hunched over a counter before a sheet of cookie dough, arraying that apron and soiled with flour from the top down, Sam couldn’t help but laugh. 

“What?” Dean barked. 

Sam spoke through his giggles. “You look like a housewife from the fifties.” 

“Well, this fifties wife sure knows how to use this rolling pin in more than one way.” He lifted the utensil like a weapon. 

“You were saying?” 

“Pick a shape for your cookie, for the third time.” 

Sam looked over the counter. The boys had many cookie cutters, a collection built up over the years, to choose from: a stocking, a snowman, a Christmas tree, a candy cane...Sam lifted the silver cutout of an angel and held it near Dean’s face. “I take it you call dibs on this one.” 

“Shut up.” 

“I’ll take the reindeer.” Sam pressed the cutter securely into the dough. Dean did end up choosing the angel, to Sam’s utter lack of surprise, and together they designed a batch of festive shapes of dough. Dean transferred the pre-baked cookies to the pan, then cautiously lowered them into the oven and punched ten minutes into the timer. 

“That should be it for the food,” Dean sighed, wiping his hands on a decorative towel. Also Sam’s idea. The Winchesters had organized an indulgent dinner for this evening: a fat roasted ham garnished with baby tomatoes and peach syrup—Dean thought it sounded absolutely repulsive, but Sam insisted it wasn’t—an ornamental plate of fresh vegetables—carrots, cauliflower, and broccoli with homemade dip—a loaf of cornbread, salad fixings, stuffing, and the desserts: cupcakes topped with red and green icing, ingredients for s’mores (if it wasn’t too cold to ignite a fire in the pit in the backyard), brownie bites, and the sugar cookies. 

“We’ll be feasting for days,” Dean noted. 

Sam cocked his head at him. 

“What now?” 

“You should probably take a shower before our guests get here, wifey.” 

Dean nodded, as if to agree with him, then covertly closed his hand around a lump of leftover flour and abruptly chucked it at his younger brother. Sam closed his eyes and threw up an arm, but the powder smacked him right in the face, rolling like snowfall down his cheek and onto the fine fabric of his sweater. Sam gasped at the mess, then glared at Dean, who chortled like a hyena.  

“You were asking for it, Pumpkin!” Dean hooted. 

“Dean! This is my new sweater!” 

“Don’t worry, it’s white. You can’t tell.” 

Sam’s nostrils flared, gladly seeking revenge. 

“Let’s get some more, make it match your pants...” Dean was wrong to turn from Sam. Sam struck the counter with both hands to seize two fistfuls of white crumble, and spewed it at Dean. Dean ducked behind the counter, the shot spitting in his hair, and blindly cast another billow of dust in Sam’s direction. Like romping soldiers they hit each other with whatever they could reach from their hiding spots. Laughter hurt their stomachs as most of the flour ended up on them and on the floor, and both were out of ammunition and energy after a couple minutes. Dean crawled to Sam on all fours, who’d taken cover behind the island, and the laughter abated into worn-out sighs. 

“Truce?” Sam panted, holding up a dirty hand for a high-five. 

“Yeah, truce,” Dean said. He opened his hand and smacked Sam’s. The force sputtered the remaining flour into the air, at both of them, and Dean spit the taste from his mouth while Sam rubbed his eyes with the sleeves of his sullied sweater. 

“Guess we both need a shower now,” Sam muttered. 

“You go first. I’ll start cleaning up in here.” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

Dean lifted to his feet and offered a hand to help Sam up, secretly wiping the other hand over the rolling pin for one last assault. As the taller Winchester stood upright, Dean lightly smacked his face, smearing flour over his cheekbones. Sam didn’t retaliate. He ran a hand over his mouth, making the mess worse. 

“Suddenly you’re the mature one?” Dean taunted. 

“ _Suddenly_?” Sam asked, cocking a grin. 

“Now who’s the wifey?” 

“I’ll get you back,” Sam promised, backing out of the kitchen to clean himself up. 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

 

* * * * * 

 

Castiel was the first guest to arrive, magically appearing on the doorstep after a brief visit to a state far, far away. The trip was not out of the way for him, not with his abilities, and it was a favor to Sam which he was perfectly willing to undergo. The mild push of wintry air down the street didn’t bother the angel, though he sported his trench coat per custom and was embellished himself for the holiday underneath. Sam had given him some tips on how to look conventional this time of year, and he’d followed every direction. Good old Sam, looking out for his friend. Castiel certainly would have been lost otherwise. 

With one hand gripping an overstuffed grocery bag, he pressed the doorbell with a finger on the freehand and waited. 

Dean opened the door for him, and angelic and all-powerful as he was, Castiel couldn’t help but break open with a cheesy smile at the sight of him. The rugged, handsome hunter had obviously cleaned up for this banquet: chiseled jaw shaved smooth of stubble, upper half clad in a plaid button-up and dark blue jeans that hugged his hips snug. Suddenly Castiel felt what the humans would call,  _awkward_. 

“Hello, Dean,” he greeted. 

“Hey, Cas. Merry Christmas.” 

“And the same to you.” 

Dean held the door open, inviting the angel into his and Sam’s home. “What’d you bring me?” 

“A few holiday-themed movies Sam asked me to pick up, but they were almost impossible to ‘rent.’ I had to track down a Blockbuster store.” 

Dean looked baffled. “You found one?” 

“Yes. In Anchorage, Alaska. It was quite a trip.” 

“Oh, wow. Well, uh...thanks.” 

“It was no trouble.”  

“Can I take your coat?” Dean offered, and Castiel was flattered by the politeness. 

“Yes. Thank you.” 

Castiel turned around, let the sleeves of his coat slide down his arms, admiring the Christmas tree from there. From its base to its peak, every branch was bedecked: plastic balls in different colors, little glass snowmen and bells, an ornament of baby Jesus in the manger, birds and reindeer and stars and holly. The tree was lidded with a beautiful angel with an embellished dress, praying hands and a sparkling halo. Underneath the timber was a hoard of presents, wrapped neatly and arranged by what belonged to whom between the brothers. 

“I had no idea you two were so into Christmas,” Castiel said, turning around again as Dean stashed his coat in the closet. 

“Yeah, well, you hang out with someone as hokey and sentimental as Sammy for long enough, and you get to be—” Dean cut himself off, staring at Castiel’s attire in shock. 

“What is it?” Cas asked, feeling slightly flushed.  _What did I do wrong now_? 

“Oh, nothing, it’s just...” Suddenly Dean was laughing, laughing hard, and Castiel peeped down at what could possibly be so funny. 

“Is it my sweater?” 

“Yeah. It’s great,” Dean hooted. “I mean, it’s stupid as hell, but it’s great.” 

“I don’t understand.” Sam had picked out the garment himself and requested Castiel to wear it to the party. It was a red cashmere sweater, thin and gauzy, and on the chest was a cartoon sheep tangled in Christmas lights, sporting a Santa hat, between the bold white words FLEECE and NAVIDAD. 

“It’s corny and punny, but it’s okay. That’s the way ugly Christmas sweaters are supposed to be.” 

Castiel went hot. “Ugly? Oh...” 

“No, no, no, no,” Dean stammered. “It’s nice. I promise. It’s funny. Not actually ugly. That’s just what we call them at Christmastime.” 

“Why?” 

Dean didn’t feel like explaining. “Never mind. You look nice. Did you lose weight?” 

Castiel stared down at his body again. “This vessel tends to weigh a little more this time of year, actually. But it’s alright.” 

“Happens to all of us.” 

Sam ambled into the living room next. “Hey, Cas,” he greeted, beaming a white smile. “Merry Christmas.” 

“And the same to you.” Castiel held up the plastic bag. “I brought the movies.” 

“Oh, great. And you wore the sweater, too. You’re pretty bitchin’,” Sam laughed. 

Castiel remained serious. “I don’t intend to complain or grumble about anything this evening. I’m very thankful for this event.” 

“No, no, Cas, it’s just an expression. You look nice.” 

“Oh.” Castiel was not yet used to how...heated and discomfited, yet flattered and esteemed, the boys’ words made him. “Thank you. You two look rather bitching yourself.” 

Dean smiled, and patted his firm shoulder. “Thanks, Cas. Want some grub?” 

“Is it not rude to start eating before the other guests arrive?” 

“Hello, boys.” 

Dean jumped, hand lifting to his chest as he twirled around to see Crowley, dapper and good-looking as always, standing in the kitchen entryway with his hands behind his back like he’d done something mischievous. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean said, regaining his breath. No matter how often he saw Crowley or spent time around him, Crowley would always somewhat spook him. “You couldn’t use the door like a normal person?” 

“Who are you calling normal?” Crowley asked. The king of hell glimpsed over at Sam next. “Hello, Moose.” 

“Hey, Crowley,” Sam said. 

“Alright, so we’ve got movies, food, and everyone here,” Dean said. He clapped his flour-free hands together, rubbing them. “We’re ready to chow down.” 

“Aren’t we missing someone?” Castiel asked. 

“Uh, no?” Sam stated. “I thought it’d just be us four.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry, Sam. I forgot to tell you, I invited one more guest.” 

“Who?” Dean had the whole gang here, his brother and his angel and his...well, his Crowley. Nobody was missing from what he knew. Who else did they all know? 

“Hey there, big boys.” 

Dean was startled again, clutching his chest through his shirt. Of everyone Cas could have possibly invited, this was the most baffling surprise of them all. The sweet-toothed angel strolled into the living room from the kitchen, pushing past Crowley, holding up a red cupcake. 

“Gabriel?” Dean asked, staring at Castiel. 

Cas shrugged one shoulder. “Well, he  _is_  family. And one of the strongest ethics of Christmas is family.” 

“Yeah? Well, Lucifer is technically family too, but I don’t see him making any surprise entrances.” Dean suddenly spun around, pointing a finger at Gabriel, who could have made it happen with a snap of his fingers. “Don’t even think about it.” 

“Relax,” Gabriel said, elevating a hand—the hand not currently clutching a cupcake, which he was nibbling into. “He’s still working out some  _serious_  self-esteem issues down under. As for me, I just couldn’t miss out on a Christmas party with some of my favorite people in the world!” The Trickster met all of their eyes, then smirked at Crowley. “Well, except you.” 

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Like I need  _your_  friendship.” 

“I’m not trying to pull anything here, guys,” Gabriel said, his voice dipping into a more somber tone. “I just want  _one_  nice holiday without any drama or fighting or bloodshed. And  _especially_  no Lucifer. Alright? I swear.” 

Sam and Dean traded a look, then nodded to one another. “Alright, sure,” Sam said. “Welcome to the party, Gabriel.” 

Gabriel grinned, toothy. “Splendid!” He wandered back into the kitchen. “Who made these cupcakes? They’re delightful.” 

“Alright, eat up, everyone,” Dean said with a sigh. He had a good feeling about Christmas so far, a sensation he did not experience too often, so he’d cling to it as long as he could before the broken reality he called life rolled back around and drowned him. 

The dining room table, set with Christmas-themed china, plates and cups and silverware on red napkins, was big enough to sit everyone, even the unexpected guest who claimed a seat at the head of the table. The ham platter was passed around, then the vegetable sheet, then the bread and enormous salad bowl, the dish of stuffing, and finally the long platter of dessert options. Gabriel helped himself to two of the sugar cookies, one shaped like a Santa hat and the other, one of the angels. When he plucked a brownie bite and yet another cupcake, Sam on his right gently smacked his hand. 

“Save some for everyone else,” he instructed. 

“Yes, Mom.” Gabriel stuck out his tongue and handed the plate of cookies off to Castiel, on his left. He studied the shapes of the cookies, then lifted a roundish angel-shaped treat between his slim fingers. 

“I hope my vessel is not  _thi_ s plump,” Castiel joked, and Dean and Sam chuckled. Castiel beamed at his accomplishment. 

“I told a joke,” Cas said, looking at Crowley next to him, who soughed. 

“And then you ruined it.”  

“Oh.” Castiel frowned. Dean reached over and squeezed his hand on the table. 

Crowley chose a cookie at random, then passed the plate to Dean, sitting across from him, next to Sam. Dean took the last angel-shaped cookie as planned, then gave Sam the platter. 

“Shall I say grace?” Gabriel suggested as Dean started to carve his slab of ham. 

“Sure,” Cas said, nodding. “That’d be nice.” 

Crowley rolled his eyes, then lowered his eyes to his lap when he caught Sam glaring at him. 

“God, our Father...well, mine and Cassie’s,” Gabriel began, looking up at the ceiling. “Thank You for making all of this possible. We all know how bad the world can suck sometimes, so it’s nice to take some time off the work set before us, and enjoy each other’s company for what it’s worth. Keep us safe and well tonight, and please,  _please_  don’t curse me with diabetes. Amen.” 

“Amen,” the group echoed, and Sam gazed at Gabriel, who wolfed down another cupcake. 

“What?” he asked, mouth full. 

“Not used to you acting so thoughtful.” 

Gabriel dabbed his frosting-daubed lips with a festal napkin. “You have no idea, kid.” 

Dinner was quiet. The only subject the five of them shared in common was quite the opposite of Christmas “ethics”, as Cas put it: destruction, devastation, death. Dean made himself eat a head of cauliflower for Sam’s sake, since he’d spent the money on this healthy crap. Sam quietly enjoyed the stuffing. Castiel poked at a salad with his fork, wondering why humans would willingly and merrily devour rabbit food. Crowley was abnormally quiet, munching on a carrot as if the act made him uncomfortable. Gabriel looked back and forth between the pairs of men on both sides of the table, then sighed. 

“I swear, it’s like you’re all total strangers,” Gabriel said. “It’s Christmastime. We’re all friends here! If you’re not gonna chitchat, let’s at least get some music going.” He snapped his fingers, and the television turned on, switching to a music channel which blasted Christmas carols. “Ah, one of my favorite tunes this time of year! Come on, guys, you all know the words!” Gabriel sprung from his seat, dancing around the table.  

Dean rubbed his eyes.  _Oh, God_. 

“ _I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need_...” Gabriel skipped behind Crowley. “ _And I don’t care about the presents, underneath the Christmas tree_!” Crowley swatted at him like a bug, and Gabriel shifted behind Castiel. “ _I don’t need to hang my stocking, there up on the fireplace_!” Castiel watched him skip around the table, coming up behind Sam. “Come on, Sam, dance with me!” he exclaimed. 

“No thanks—” Sam tried, but Gabriel snapped again and suddenly he’d teleported into the living room, foxtrotting with the Trickster on the carpet in front of the burning fireplace. 

“ _I just want you for my own_...” Gabriel sang, staring into Sam’s eyes like he was singing directly at the Winchester. “ _More than you could ever know. Make my wish come true! All I want for Christmas is you_...” 

But Sam kept dancing. On his own, too. Remarkable, dancing with an angel in his living room! Liking it! Sam spun Gabriel around, then drew him in again, both of them giggling. 

“There’s room for more on this dance floor!” Gabriel called. 

Dean thought about it. His first thought was,  _what the hell_ , it’s Christmas, might as well let loose and enjoy himself for once. The thought to follow was Gabriel would make him do it anyway, so it was inevitable eventually. He gulped down another rush of beer, then stretched his hand across the table towards Castiel. 

“Would you like to dance?” he asked. 

Castiel was surprised. “Uh...I’m not sure if I have the abilities to...” 

“Oh, come on. This ain’t  _Dancing with the Stars_. Let’s just go.” 

Castiel smiled. “Well. Alright, then.” 

Castiel and Dean danced together not far from Sam and Gabriel, who were spinning and laughing so hard they could hardly stand up. Gabriel kept singing. Crowley watched on from the table, drumming his fingers on the table, unamused, pitying. 

“You’re not getting out of this, Crow,” Gabriel said. 

“Excuse me?” 

_Snap_. 

Crowley was suddenly on his feet, snapping his own fingers to the beat, hips rocking, feet tapping, and all completely out of his control. “What the hell did you do to me?” he demanded. 

“Rock, paper, scissors. And god beats king,” Gabriel boasted. “So glad you could join us.” 

“You’ll pay for this one, you rat.” 

“Who knew the king of hell had rhythm!” Gabriel teased, and Crowley sighed in utter defeat as his body moved beyond his power, stepping and wiggling to the cheesy music.  

When the song ended, Dean dipped Cas, struggling to hold his muscular form up. Sam and Gabriel bowed to one another, and at last Crowley reclaimed control over his own body. 

“That was absolute torture,” he growled at Gabriel. 

“Sorry,” he said, not meaning it. “You seemed to  _really_  be enjoying yourself.” 

Dinner was finished and Sam and Dean moved the dirty dishes to the sink. “Nice moves out there, Gene Kelly,” Dean teased. 

“Nice chemistry out there, Mr. Darcy,” Sam teased right back. “Is tonight the night you declare your affections?” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “The day I ‘declare my affections’ for anyone is the day you admit you’re not exactly where I am, too.” 

Sam held his breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You were cheek-and-cheek with Gabriel out there. That doesn’t mean nothin’?” 

“No, Dean, it doesn’t,” Sam huffed. 

“Alright. We’ll just keep lying to each other, then.” He grabbed a beer from the fridge and left the kitchen. Sam was slow to follow him.  _He’s wrong_ , he thought.  _I don’t even know the guy. Er, angel. And he’s been nothing but trouble since day one, so there’s no way in hell I’d ever go for such a child_. 

Gabriel was laughing over Castiel’s sweater when they returned to the living room. “That’s probably one of the worst Christmas songs of all time,” he hooted. 

Cas looked to Dean, not understanding the reference. 

“You’re wrong,” Dean defended. “That’d be ‘Wonderful Christmastime’ by Paul McCartney.” 

“No, no, I got you both beat,” Sam said. He lowered himself onto the couch beside Castiel, and Dean sat down on the angel’s other side. “‘The Christmas Shoes.’ I don’t know who sings it, and I don’t care.” 

“Dude,” Dean told him over Castiel’s body. “You don’t tear up when you hear ‘Christmas Shoes’?” 

“Oh, I tear up. In boredom, after hearing the same song over and over again every single day of December. It’s torture,” Sam proclaimed. 

“No, Moose, I know torture,” Crowley said. “And that song is  _not_  torture. Now, ‘Baby It’s Cold Outside’, I’d like to schedule some torment on whatever bugger wrote that  _painful_ little ditty. Drugging your date with sex in mind as she  _pleads_  for you to let her go home? That song is everything wrong with humanity.” 

“Alright, how about instead of making this a Debbie Downer session, we get to some of these presents, huh?” Gabriel referred to the Christmas tree, where there suddenly seemed to be more presents than there were prior to his arrival. “I see gifts for everybody.” 

“Wow!” Dean said, eyeing the load. “We must have been really good this year, Sammy.” He tapped his brother’s chest with his knuckles, then leaped over the couch to get to the tree. He and Gabriel passed out the gifts; Gabriel had gotten something for everyone here, even as someone previously uninvited to the party. 

“Why don’t you start us off, Sam?” Gabriel suggested. The five of them squished together in the living room; Sam, Dean and Cas sat together on the couch, Crowley was settled on the love seat while Gabriel was perched on the armrest.  

“Alright.” Sam peeled a layer of wrapping paper off his mystery gift. It was tucked in a box, and Sam lifted the lid to reveal a brown knit beanie cap. Simple, fashionable, nice. 

“Wow, thanks...er, whoever,” Sam said, laughing. He pulled the hat on over his head. A perfect fit. 

“Hey, looks like it was hand-knitted, too,” Gabriel pointed out. 

“Yeah?” Sam tweaked the hat off, fingering the material, realizing Gabriel was right—and if he knew the hat was homemade, surely he must have been responsible for it. “Thanks, Gabriel.” 

“Yeah, yeah. It’s Christmas. Next!” Gabriel announced. 

Next was Dean, who also unwrapped a present of question. He chuckled in victory as he uncovered a briefcase designated to hold up to six beer bottles. “This’ll be good on the road,” he said. “Thanks.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Gabriel said. “Ever. Really. I got a reputation to keep.” 

Castiel opened a bracelet with three silver charms: an angel wing, a gemstone, and a tiny dog tag marked with one word: “brother.” Castiel slipped the bracelet over his wrist, and immediately opened his arms to squish Gabriel in an awkward hug.  

“This is very thoughtful. Thank you, Gabriel.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Gabriel choked, patting Castiel’s bag. “Anytime, Cassie.” 

Crowley sighed as he began to open his present, unsure of what to expect from such a prankster. It turned out to be not folly, but an earnest gift that intrigued him; a book written by Aleister Crowley called  _The Revival of Magick and Other Essays_. 

“I really, really didn’t know what to get you,” Gabriel said. “I understand if you toss it. But, I mean, come on. It’s got you written all over it. Literally.” 

But Crowley cracked a smile. Well, half of one. “If there was ever a book to purchase for the king of hell, surely it would be this.” He held up the book, and Gabriel deemed himself proud. “I’ll have a look at this later in a hot bath with a cup of tea.” 

No one knew if he was serious or only kidding. 

“My turn!” Gabriel said, clapping his hands. He drew a gift from behind his back and tore it open. “Oh, lookie here! A box of chocolates, from me, to me. That was considerate of me.” The Trickster yanked off the lid and bit into the first piece of chocolate he grabbed. “Yummy.” 

Sam and Dean felt equally guilty for not having anything to give to Gabriel, but it wasn’t entirely their faults; he’d shown up unannounced and, regrettably, uninvited. He didn’t seem to mind, though; he came well beyond prepared. Sam planned to make it up to him, somehow.  _Wonder what Google would think if I typed in ‘what to give a trickster angel for Christmas.’_  

“This was fun, eh?” Gabriel wiggled an eyebrow. “What’s next on the agenda, Winchesters?” 

“Uh...not a lot,” Sam said. “Just finishing off the food and watching some of the movies Castiel brought over. 

“Sounds swell. Just not  _Elf_ , please. I can’t stand that curly-haired dumbass.” 

Castiel retrieved the bag of movies. “I picked up, let’s see... _It’s a Wonderful Life_...” 

“Boring!” 

“ _Home Alone_...” 

“Classic!” 

“ _The Nightmare Before Christmas_...” 

“Emo! Might be food for Crowley, though.” 

“Hush,” Crowley snapped. 

“And  _Rudolph_.” Castiel looked up at the others. “There were not many holiday films in stock so close to Christmas.” 

“You did fine, Cas,” Gabriel assured. “My vote’s for Macaulay Culkin over those creepy-ass stop-motion puppets.” 

“You’ve been runnin’ the show all night, Gabe,” Dean said. “This is our party, remember?” 

“You’re right,” the angel hummed. “What would  _you_  like to watch, Dean-o? I’m afraid  _Love Actually_  didn’t make the cut.” 

“I  _like_   _Elf_.” 

“Then  _Elf_  it is!” Gabriel declared, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Don’t wanna get blood from my ears all over your nice carpet here.” 

Dean, Castiel and Crowley started the flick, Cas and Dean pretending they weren’t inching closer and closer together on the couch, and Sam excused himself to the kitchen, choosing to clean up a little more. He flicked the light on, catching Gabriel looming over the table, another cupcake inches away from his open mouth. Busted. 

“May I?” he inquired. 

“Yeah, why not?” 

“Goodie.” Gabriel wolfed down the sweet treat. “You made these delectable, Sammy. Already can’t wait to have them again next year.” 

“Thanks.” Sam turned the water on, filling the sink with warm water, adding a spritz of dish soap under the flow. 

“Need some help?” 

“I wouldn’t turn it down.” 

_I know you wouldn’t_. Gabriel stood on his other side. Sam would scrub the dish with a soapy rag, then hand it to Gabriel who’d rinse it and wipe it dry with a towel and set it aside. But he couldn’t resist scooping a handful of suds into his hand and scraping them onto his chin.  

“Hey, Sam. Who am I?  _Ho-ho-ho_!” 

Sam chuckled. “Let me guess...a pagan god?” 

“Hell no. Those guys are cockroaches.” 

“They sure are. Dean and I have had our fair share of cockroaches to deal with.” 

“And you’ve crushed them all.” 

“Maybe not all of them,” Sam corrected him. “But most.” 

“You two are the best of the best at it. Maybe the only ones left who give a crap about the world and everyone in it. Everyone else nowadays is just so selfish and apathetic. They don’t care if the whole planet goes to hell.” 

“We’re not the best,” Sam admitted, timid. “But we try. God, do we try.” 

“Your efforts don’t go unnoticed.” 

Sam peered over in the living room, where Dean and Castiel were getting cozy under a quilt. Crowley wasn’t making jokes or comments; just watching the film. For whatever reason, Sam got sad, and he made himself look away. 

“You okay?” Gabriel asked. “You’ve been scrubbing the same plate for a minute now.” 

“Oh, sorry,” Sam mumbled, handing him the extra-clean platter. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.” 

“You sure?” 

“Sure, I’m sure.” 

Gabriel set the plate down. “Sam. What do you want?” 

Sam looked over at him. “What do you mean?” 

“You know what I mean. Your entire life is spent in service mode. You’re always in it for other people. Do you ever think about yourself? Even once?” 

“I...I guess, I just...” Sam sighed, dropping the bowl and scrubber in hand.  

“You’ve gotta be the most selfless son of a bitch I’ve ever met.” 

Sam heated up. “I didn’t know being selfless was such a negative thing.” 

“It’s not. Sometimes. But you’ve  _gotta_  consider yourself once in a while, or you might lose who you are. And who you are is pretty damn special, Sam. Whether you realize it or not. But you probably don’t, because you’re too damn noble. You put your brother, your friends, everyone you’ve ever met, above yourself. Even in a dream, you’re still thinking about Dean. And your friends. Hell, you’ve even got the friggin’ king of hell over for Christmas dinner. Obviously you’re the lowest on your priority list. Do you ever stop to think about what  _you_  want in life?” 

_My dream? What is he talking about_? 

Gabriel was close to him now, so close that Sam could feel the heat of his skin even through his sweater. A man, an angel, a damn Trickster who’d tormented him and Dean in the past...now moving his hand on top of Sam’s, leaving it there, his thumb stroking Sam’s. And it felt good. 

“What do you want?” Gabriel pleaded. Sam swore his big eyes were filling with tears. 

They were no longer in the kitchen. Sam was with Gabriel, elsewhere, far away from the living room, the fireplace, Dean and Crowley and Castiel...where they were, it was hard to say, and all Sam really knew was he was  _with_  Gabriel. The air around them was bright and cold. Must have been cold, anyway, because Sam was shivering. 

“Tell me,” Gabriel beckoned. “ _What_  do you  _want_?” 

“I...” He knew the answer yet it lodged itself in his throat, strangling him. What good would it do to focus on himself? Who was he? Nothing but a hunter who risked life and limb for people who didn’t give a rat’s ass… 

And was it tiring sometimes. So tiring. 

“Yes?” Gabriel coaxed. He licked his lips. Sam wondered what they tasted like. 

“I want to love,” he wheezed at last.  

“Yes.” Did Gabriel already know that? It didn’t stop Sam from spilling anyway. Once he started talking, there was no barrier to hold back the spillage of his soul. 

“I want to love someone, and be loved, and for the first time in my damn life I want it to last. Everyone I ever care about dies or leaves, and I’m sick of it always working out for Dean and not for me. I want to know there’s someone out there who’ll put me first. And who won’t quit on me. I’m willing to give anyone a chance if I just know for sure, for  _once_ , nothing will stand in the way of it.” 

Gabriel only nodded. One word that confused Sam, and pissed him off. “Yes.” 

“Dammit, Gabriel, why are you doing this to me?!” 

The light around them filled Gabriel so much that he was impossible to look at without Sam’s eyes burning right out. He shielded his face with his hands and tried to speak again: “GABRIEL!” 

_Not you, too!! No!!_  

 

* * * * * 

 

It was dark. Still cold. 

And Sam felt sick. 

He sat up wherever he was, realizing there was a sheet over him. He w out from underneath it, remembering how to breathe again. Sam looked all around him. Hard to see; it was pitch-dark. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. He was on a bed. 

In a motel room. 

Not a house, a warm and cozy home adorned for Christmas with a dining table stocked with food and the closest people he had to family in the world, including his blood brother whom he loved more than anyone... 

He was in a motel room. 

Dean was snoring in the bed next to his. 

Where he’d been before… 

It had all just been a dream? 

Sam was sweating so copiously his clothes clung to his body. Disgusting. He slinked out of bed and crept to the bathroom to shower. What a dream. It’d been so real, like visions he’d experienced in past, but not nightmares about death and darkness this time; no, it’d been a very peaceful scenario, delightful, with Christmas presents and good company and a sexy angel challenging him to… 

No. 

What? 

_Gabriel_? Sam hadn’t seen him in months. He could have been dead for all Sam knew. 

Why the hell was that Trickster worming his way into his subconscious? 

What a freaky dream. Felt so real, too… 

So real he could still feel the heat of the fireplace on his skin. Or was that Gabriel’s natural warmth, standing so close, he remembered? 

Screw it. It hadn’t happened. None of it had been real. Didn’t matter. 

Sam took a long, long shower. He let the scalding water unwind his taut back muscles, trickle through his long hair. He didn’t even bother with the cheap shampoo and conditioner provided by the Antler Pass Motel. 

Just stood there, and rinsed, and thought about the dream. For who knows why. 

When he made himself leave the shower, his adrenaline rush had ceased. He was tired again. Ready for more sleep. Wondered if that dream would come back, finish off. Sam squeezed his hair into a threadbare towel, then sat on the toilet, still thinking. 

Too realistic, that dream. 

What if...no. No, surely not. Not impossible, but… 

What if...  

_No. Shut up and go to bed_. 

Sam dressed in a clean pair of pajamas and slipped out of the bathroom. 

The lights were on. 

Dean was still sound asleep, wrapped underneath the sheets of his bed. 

And Gabriel was perched on his bed. 

Sam froze. 

Gabriel smiled. “Hiya, Sammy.” 

“Wh—” Sam breathed. 

“Hey, it’s okay. We can talk. Dean’s gonna be out for a  _little_  while longer.” 

If he wasn’t waking to this chatter, he wouldn’t wake for much else. Dean wasn’t a heavy sleeper. 

“What did you do to my brother?” Sam demanded. 

“Exactly what I did to you, Sam.” Gabriel rolled off the bed. “I gave him what he wanted.” 

The words echoed in his head, distant.  _What do you want, Sam_? 

“It’s interesting, how similarly the two of you acted in separate dreams,” Gabriel went on, meandering towards Sam. “I figured Christmastime would fit the bill, since that’s tomorrow and all, but the rest of the details, I gave you two the reins on. The pictures were nearly identical. Christmas Eve, a house, Castiel acting like his naive self...only Dean was sitting next to Cassie in his dream, and you were sitting next to Dean. One of just a few minor differences.” 

Sam’s head began to ache. “What are you talking about?  _You_  put me in that dream?” 

“Down to the last drop of peach syrup garnish.” 

“But why?” 

“Why? Because the two of you won’t stop dicking around in this world for what you consider to be the ‘greater good.’ Look at everything you’ve already caused, what you could have stopped, but no. It all started when John Winchester traded off his soul to bring Dean back from the dead, yada-yada-yada.” Gabriel rolled his head back, pacing back and forth over the floor. “I guess self-sacrifice is just the Winchester way. Very noble. And also completely stupid.” 

Sam licked his lips.  _Shut up. You know nothing about me_. 

“But I got my answer, Sam. That’s all I wanted. One answer.” 

“An answer to what?” 

“ _What you want_. I asked you several times back there. You finally told me, like you trust this silly ol’ Trickster or something.” 

Sam could hardly remember that portion of the dream. “And what? You’re not a genie, and last I checked, you aren’t too nice of a guy, either. Dare I say you’re a bit of a dick. It’s not like you’re going to give me what I want.” 

Gabriel sighed. “No. I can’t, I’m afraid, because it has to be your choice.” 

“Then why bother asking me? Why bother putting me through that crap?” 

Gabriel frowned. He started treading slowly, almost menacingly, towards Sam. “You want love? Boom. Here it is, in all its glorious form. But you run away from it. Others, oh, sure,  _they_  can be in love and live happily ever after. But not you. You’re cursed, Sam, or so you think. You’ve got this idea going in your head that it’s impossible for you to find love because everyone you’ve ever cared about either dies or leaves.” The Trickster paused his walk over Dean’s bed, his eyes skimming over the hunter’s covered body. “Including him.” 

“Shut up,” Sam voiced. “Just shut up.” 

“You’re doing this to yourself, Sam. I gave you a dream to  _give_  you what you wanted. You took the reins there, like I said. Not me. I just kicked back, threw in some details here and there for my own entertainment, but ultimately it came down to you, doing the dishes alone with me in the kitchen, watching while your brother falls in love with a beautiful angel, and you’re stuck by yourself, alongside someone who knows you a lot better than you think he does.” 

“What the hell are you getting at?” 

“It’s like I’m talking to a brick wall,” Gabriel groaned. “You want me to spell it out for you, Sam? Okay, sure. Here it is. While Dean-o back there dreams of his beloved angel...” He waved an arm back towards the sleeping Dean, not breaking eye contact with Sam so close. “I gave you what you wanted. Everything. A comfortable life, a house with your brother, friendship, a nice,  _normal_  holiday. I even gave myself to you. Someone who loves you with every breath he takes, this immortal, this god, someone who has always had full intentions of  _making you happy_. Did I not, back there, when we were dancing in the living room and trading off gifts? Did I not give you everything you ever wanted in life? I’m right here, Sam! It’s me you want, because I’m the guy who is going to love you no matter how wrong or senseless it may seem. Me! I’m not dying off anytime soon, or leaving, because if I could, I sure would have by now. But no. I choose to stay. Here. With you. And it has to be your choice to stay here with me.” 

Sam was left wordless. How was he supposed to take all this in at one? Gabriel was in love with him? He was willing to pry and press into Sam’s very psyche and the deepest musings of his heart, make him confess his secret, for the sake of revelation? 

“You did all that just to ask me out?” Sam asked, unsure of what else to say. 

Gabriel smirked. “Of course! No, I kid, but I did everything I did, I showed you all I showed you, to prove that you  _can_  have what you want. I  _can_  give you everything that makes you happy, kid. You’re just too selfless to recognize it.” 

“Being selfless isn’t a bad thing, Gabriel.” 

“I think we already had this conversation, back there in your brain.” 

Sam shook his head, his damp hair swaying, casting out beads of water. “Everything you showed me was a dream. It wasn’t real.” 

“Oh, Sam. I can make dreams come true.” 

And Gabriel kissed him, long and firm. Sam didn’t kiss him back, not right away, but he didn’t resist. Gabriel was so warm and compassionate...and he tasted damn good, too. No sooner did Sam begin to sink into the kiss did Gabriel break it off, draining him of breath and sense. 

“Think about it. And please, keep this.” 

From out of nowhere Gabriel produced the same knitted beanie hat Sam had opened under a fake Christmas tree in a false alternate reality. Sam took the hat, gripping it tight in both hands. 

“I did make it for you, after all. Spent a long time learning how to knit, just for you.” 

And he was gone. 

Sam took in a breath at last.  _What...the hell...was that…_? 

Dean moaned, turning over in his bed before gradually sitting up. “Hey,” he grunted, rubbing his eyes. 

“Hey. Morning. Merry Christmas,” Sam told him, noting the time. It was five past six, Christmas morning. 

“Yeah, Merry Christmas, Sammy.” Dean yawned deeply, then stood up, stretching his arms high above his head. “I had the weirdest dream, dude...” 

“Spare me,” Sam chuckled, lifting a hand. 

“Alright, fine. Wanna hit up a Denny’s or something? They’re probably open on Christmas. My treat.” 

“Sure.”  

But as Sam dressed for the day, brushed his teeth, followed Dean outside into a nippy, snowy morning...realizing his hopes of having a house and a fireplace and a big Christmas tree with an angel topper were gone...for now...the truth settled in him comfortably that he was loved. 

Loved by an angel. 

Watched by an angel. 

And maybe, in some crazy sense, Sam loved the hell out of that angel, too. 

Some things just couldn’t be explained.  


End file.
